


Djinn

by Carenejeans



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-05
Updated: 2010-01-05
Packaged: 2017-10-05 19:39:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carenejeans/pseuds/Carenejeans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another kind of Holy Ground.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Djinn

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote this for the 2005 Pic for 1000 challenge, before I got a brainstorm and posted "One for All" instead. The picture is [here](http://garret.slashcity.net/carene-picfor1000-3.jpg)  
> Thanks to Tehomet for beta-reading

The snow came down. It banked up against the windows, shouldering against the glass. Inside the cabin it was warm. Duncan sat quietly in the firelight and watched Amanda turn her head to the side and hook the clasp of a thin gold chain around her neck. Normally this was something he would do for her. But not tonight. She reached into a capacious leather bag and pulled out a small case; another chain, and a pearl so lustrous it reflected the firelight. He watched her slide rings on her fingers until she could hardly bend them, and cover her arms with bangles made of jade, bracelets made of silver and gold, of white and yellow ivory. Caskets and cases and boxes spilled around her, open and bereft of their precious contents, as she layered necklace after necklace around her shoulders. She put rings on her toes, bands on her ankles, jeweled clasps in her hair, earrings in her ears.

 

She wore nothing but the jewels.

 

Sitting on a lambskin rug before the hearth, intent among her baubles, she looked for all the world like a child playing dress-ups with her mother's jewelry, until you looked at her face. Duncan watched the emotions play across her face as she chose each jewel and held it to the light. Sometimes her face was soft in remembrance, sometimes hard and angry. One moment she looked smug, contented, the next murder flashed in her eyes.

 

It was no costume jewelry she held in her hands. No paste, no fool's gold. Although, Duncan thought wryly, Amanda had doubtlessly lifted a good deal of it from fools. She held up a slender, diamond-studded tiara that she claimed belonged in a vault with the Spanish crown jewels, given to her by a deaf Prince who made love to her by signs. Duncan believed her. She rolled a pearl the size of a plum in the palm of her hand -- this she claimed was given to her by a member of the Javanese Royal Family, which Duncan didn't believe for a moment. There was something in her eyes as she gazed at it that spoke of solitary prowls through darkened rooms.

 

She stood for a moment, holding the longest and fullest pearl necklace Duncan had ever seen, spilling from her hand in a shower of creamy opulence. At least a dozen strands, held together with a large gold clasp, it had probably been designed for the very large bosom of a very large woman, but Amanda fastened it around her waist. Its looping strands fell almost to her knees. She ran the strands through her fingers for a long time.

 

Duncan watched, silent.

 

This wasn't something that Amanda did often. Duncan could only remember a handful of nights like this. She'd ask, politely, if they could spend a few days at his cabin. Nothing more, but he could always hear the plea under the request. It was always winter; they'd have to slog through the snow to reach the cabin, and shut themselves in against the cold. Duncan would build up a fire, make the place habitable and homey, and prepare the delicacies he'd brought -- perfect out-of-season pears, oranges like jewels, smoked salmon, fresh bread, caviar. And, acting on some sense he couldn't quite explain, he would cook a large pot of stew, redolent with lamb, onions, carrots, the kind of dish a starving man would dream of. Or starving woman.

 

While Duncan was up to his elbows in onions and oranges, Amanda would move with subdued efficiency through the cabin, unlocking, tapping, and prying open a dozen small hiding places, some Duncan hadn't known existed, and pretended not to notice.

 

They would settle in, as old friends, and feed each other chocolate and figs, until the light outside faded, and the fire banked high. Then it would begin. Amanda would shed her clothing as if casting off dross, and begin to clothe herself in emeralds and rubies, sapphires and diamonds, dreams and memories.

 

But before she lifted even so much as an opal from her trove, she removed the one piece of jewelry she always wore, a sliver of crystal on a chain. Duncan held out his hand, and she dropped it into his palm, closing his fingers over it.

 

Then she would settle on a rug in front of the fire, open her treasure boxes, and forget he was there.

 

The first time, Duncan thought it was simple avarice, but he knew better now. It went deeper, far deeper than lust even for such beautiful things. It cut clear down to the hunger of a street urchin, clever with the cunning of her kind, too smart to be anything but a thief and a cutpurse. She would always be hungry, and she would always be a thief, just as he would always be the son of the clan Chieftain. They were what they were.

 

Clad in her finery, she never looked at herself. She held the jewels, one by one, to the firelight, to her lips or against her skin, but never looked at a mirror. She was beautiful; she could have been part of the treasure itself, something magical, a djinn. Duncan watched over her and ached. In some way she couldn't tell him, but that he understood, his quiet presence was another sort of holy ground.

 

Later, she would lay him down on satin sheets, as if he were another, darker pearl, and she would take him in her hands, take him into her body. Lying under her, he would feed a different kind of hunger.

 

Later still, she would sleep against him, while the fire died and the light grew.

 

 

In the morning, they drank steaming mugs of brandied coffee, ate prodigious amounts of stew, kissed each other for luck, then flung open the door to the world. Standing at the threshold, they let the cold touch them for just a moment, and laughed at diamond-sparkled snow under a sapphire sky.

 

_End_

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Djinn (Touch Stone Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6196384) by [ChristinaK](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChristinaK/pseuds/ChristinaK)




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